


illicit affairs

by lantur



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, F/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:00:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26305267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lantur/pseuds/lantur
Summary: In the aftermath of the incident at the Third Laboratory, tensions run high, and mistakes are made.--A companion fic todelicate.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 85
Kudos: 130





	illicit affairs

**Author's Note:**

> This oneshot will have the most impact if you've been following my other Riza fic _delicate_ and have read the latest chapter (nine); however, reading that is not necessary to understand this. 
> 
> This is something that absolutely will _not_ happen in the next chapter of delicate, but it could have. 
> 
> For context, this takes place immediately after Roy's hospitalization in the aftermath of the incident at the Third Laboratory and culmination of the Lust arc.

Riza brings her Colonel his uniform. Roy thanks her with a terse nod, and disappears into one of the hospital bathrooms to get ready. He comes out a short while later, fully dressed in the blue wool uniform and his familiar black overcoat. He looks like himself for the first time in days, though his skin still has an unhealthy pallor, the dark circles underneath his eyes standing out like bruises.

Riza stands by his side without offering a comment as Roy signs the paperwork confirming that he is discharging himself against medical advice. He keeps his posture straight, his steps brisk, as they descend the five flights of stairs to the main floor of the hospital. Riza keeps a careful eye on him without being obvious about the fact that she is doing so, ready to support him if he should stagger or falter. 

She has spent the majority of the past three days in the hospital, underneath its harsh fluorescent lights, breathing in the stale, artificially cool air with its ever-present scent of antiseptics. Riza breathes a sigh of relief as they step out into the sunshine, savoring the feeling of the warm breeze against her skin. Roy tilts his head up to the sky, but seems unmoved by the bright, cloudless blue above them; by the pale pink plum blossoms that flutter from their branches in the breeze and swirl around them, before coming to rest gently on the sidewalk beneath their feet. 

(As long as Riza has known him, Roy has always appreciated nature and its beauty. Even when they had been twelve and sixteen, and barely knew one another outside of the quiet dinners shared across the kitchen table every night at Hawkeye Manor, he used to offer comments on the blossoming of the flowers in Riza’s garden - her mother’s garden, once - or the changing of the leaves when the seasons turned. 

It’s like he doesn’t even see the beauty of the day around them now, and Riza’s heart breaks a little.)

“We should head to the office.” Roy pulls out his car keys from the pocket of his coat, and then frowns. “Is my car still at the Third Laboratory? I forgot to ask, with everything that’s been going on.”

Riza nods to the hospital parking lot. “Falman moved it here.” 

“How?”

Roy sounds genuinely befuddled, and Riza smiles for the first time since greeting Black Hayate in the morning. “He hot-wired it.”

“Interesting,” Roy mutters. “It’s always the quiet ones.”

Riza is still weighing the safety of him driving, and the level of strain that would put on his still-healing wounds, when he tosses her the car keys. “You can drive us.”

She inclines her head, grateful that she didn’t have to be the one to broach the topic. “Of course.”

“We should stop at my apartment first.” Roy moves gingerly while fastening his seat belt, and carefully angles himself in an attempt to conceal his wince of discomfort from her. “I need to pick up my journal. I assume that you removed it from my office for safekeeping.”

“I did.” Riza turns the key in the ignition, and the car purrs to life. “It’s in the bottom of your freezer, inside a large bag of frozen vegetables. Carefully wrapped in many layers for protection, of course.”

The smallest of smiles touches Roy’s lips. It takes an effort for her to direct her attention back at the road. “Clever, Lieutenant.” 

The praise warms her. (She’s had little enough of it from him lately - it feels as though they have been at odds more often than not these past couple of weeks, although quietly.) “Thank you, Colonel.” 

Riza updates him on the unit’s attempts to keep on top of their regular work duties at Central Command as they drive. Roy is responsive, but he seems preoccupied, his fingers tapping an irregular pattern on the side of the car door. There’s little that seems to hold his attention for long these days, outside of mentally working through the conspiracy and Hughes’ murder. Part of her had been surprised that he’d even remembered to grab the book of poetry she had given him before leaving his hospital room. He holds it tightly with his free hand, knuckles almost white with the strength of his grip. 

It’s not a long drive from the hospital to Roy’s apartment. “I’ll come up with you, sir.” Riza puts the car in park. She is reasonably convinced of the security of her apartment building, but she has no such peace of mind for the rest of her unit. Besides, Roy has been out of commission for the past three days. News of his injury must have spread throughout Central Command. Their enemies are certainly competent enough to have arranged an assassin to lie in wait for him at his building, or inside his apartment itself - someone to finish the job Lust had started. 

Riza steps toward the elevator when they enter the building. Roy makes it a point to proceed straight for the stairs, as if trying to prove to her that he is at full strength and physical capability. They arrive at his third-floor apartment, and he reaches toward the doorknob, keys in hand. Riza stays his hand. “Wait, Colonel.”

She leans close, inspecting the door frame. The spiderweb-thin length of wire she had put into place earlier in the week is undisturbed, but that doesn’t mean much. “You should wait out here while I do a sweep of the apartment.” She had feared assassins, back in the car, but that had been only one of her concerns. Riza envisions bombs strapped to the underside of the kitchen table; to the back of the bathroom door, even secured to the other side of  _ this  _ door. 

“And leave you to face whatever you think is inside there alone? I don’t think so.” 

To her alarm, Roy unlocks the door and steps right inside the darkened apartment, surveying the space. Riza follows him, glaring at his back. “We’ve talked about this before, sir. Please don’t go charging into insecure locations.” 

“It’s my apartment, Hawkeye.” There’s the barest trace of humor in his tone, as he shrugs off his coat and throws it onto the rack. “I come back to it every night without you to ensure my safety, and I haven’t died yet.” 

Circumstances are different now, but he doesn’t need her to point that out. Riza blinks in the gloom. All the shutters are drawn, and the air smells stale. She flicks the kitchen light on, scanning their surroundings cautiously. Nothing seems amiss in the living room and kitchen (except for the several mostly-empty bottles of liquor clustered on the counter), and the tiny dining nook, but the back hallway, bathroom, and Roy’s bedroom are still shrouded in darkness. “You certainly make it easy for assailants to hide in here.”

Roy shrugs, unfazed. “I’m surprised you didn’t open the windows while I was out.” 

“I would have, but I didn’t want to give anyone a clear line of sight inside.” Riza draws her gun, cocks it, places her finger on the trigger, and steps into the hallway. She does a sweep of the hallway, the bedroom, and the bathroom, turning the lights on and off as she goes, checking behind the doors, in the closets, underneath the bed. Roy follows a few steps behind her, which is wholly unnecessary, his ignition gloves on. 

Riza lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding once they return to the kitchen, completing the sweep. “Clear. I’m going to figure out a security plan for you, now that you’re back home. Until then, I may escort you back here in the evenings after work, if you don’t mind, Colonel.”

“I don’t.” Roy holds her gaze for an uncomfortably long moment. “You’re very dedicated, Lieutenant. I’m lucky to have you.”

Riza looks away, fighting the juvenile, unprofessional impulse to blush at the praise. She’s grateful he hadn’t rejected the offer, or snapped at her for making it. “It’s the least I can do, sir.” (Especially after she failed him so egregiously at the Third Laboratory. She has to step up, from now until they have untangled this conspiracy. She has to do better.) 

She turns away, toward the freezer. “I’ll retrieve your journal.” 

“Wait.” 

Riza recognizes the command in his tone, and stops. She expects - she isn’t sure what she expects, actually. Things have been off-kilter, somehow, slightly strained, ever since the night she had discovered Barry the Chopper. There’s a tension between them that is unfamiliar to her. Something that has never hung over them before. 

Roy studies her, and she can see the faintest hint of nervousness in his demeanor. In the set of his shoulders and the way he flexes his right hand, before pulling his gloves off and setting them aside. “I am sorry, Hawkeye,” he stresses. “For the way I snapped at you.”

_ Which time?  _ Riza silences the small, wounded inner voice. It’s her instinct to tell him that it’s all right. That he is her commanding officer and he doesn’t owe her an apology. She’s his subordinate, his Lieutenant. He has the right to treat her however he pleases, barring actual verbal abuse or anything sexually inappropriate. But she can see that he isn’t finished yet, and she keeps silent, not wanting to interrupt his train of thought. 

“I just--” Roy glances upward, like he can’t quite look her in the eye again. He exhales, short and sharp. “I kept thinking about what would have happened if I had been a minute late. If I had made it to you a minute later, only to find you…” He looks back at her, and his gaze pins her to the spot with its intensity. “I couldn’t stand it. It...frightened me, the thought that I could have lost you. I can’t lose you, Lieutenant.”

He says the words with such deadly conviction, and Riza swallows. It’s horribly reminiscent of the fear and pain that had wracked her when she’d thought that Lust had killed him. “I understand, Colonel.”

Roy reaches out, and tentatively brushes his fingers against her hair. It’s a light touch that sweeps from her temples all the way back to where her hair clip rests. He’s never done that before. His hand comes to rest at the side of her face, cupping her cheek in his hand, fingertips stroking softly against her skin - like he had once before, in the afternoon he had comforted her when she had wept after learning what happened to Nina Tucker. Riza had been too absorbed in her grief to fully take in, then, what it had felt like to have him brush the tears from her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. The intimacy of it. 

Riza goes very still. 

“No,” Roy says quietly. His gaze flickers down to her lips (another thing he’s never done before) and it sends a jolt through her. “I don’t think you do.”

He takes one step closer, bridging the short distance between them, and leans in and kisses her. 

(Riza has imagined this, fantasized about this, this first kiss, countless times. Every time, she had imagined joy, excitement, bliss, coursing through her veins.)

What she feels now is confusion, as her fingers curl around the material of his sleeve, not pulling him closer, not pushing him away. Roy is right. She doesn’t understand. 

It’s been years. Five years, half a decade, close to two thousand days of proximity. Working together all day, every day. Breakfasts and lunches and dinners shared alone in Roy’s office. Late nights driving home after a long day at work. Late nights walking home, slightly drunk, after nights out with the unit. Saturday night dinners at Grumman’s manor once a month, back when they had been in East City. Their travels throughout Eastern Amestris, the lengthy train rides and stays in shabby inns, overnight in side-by-side rooms. Their trip to Xing. 

Five years. Half a decade’s worth of birthdays and holidays. Five years, half a decade, close to two thousand days, and Roy has never once given her any indication that she meant more to him than any of the rest of his valued, trusted subordinates and friends. But now he’s kissing her in his kitchen in the middle of the work day, his hand cradling her face, and Riza perceives his self-restraint, his effort to be tender and gentle, as much as she senses the barely constrained undercurrent of hunger, of desperation, of pure longing beneath it. 

And she’s confused. All she feels is confusion, wrapping around her like a shroud. She didn’t know. All this time, she didn’t know. 

But Riza doesn’t pull away. She recognizes that hunger, that desperation, that craving - everything that she’s felt in herself - and she reaches up, wrapping her hand around Roy’s wrist. Underneath the confusion, something shifts into place. 

She may not fully understand, she may be confused, but this is something she  _ can  _ do. (The flashback flits through Riza’s mind, brief and merciless, even with Roy’s mouth on hers, his other hand coming up to wrap around the side of her neck, thumb tracing down her jaw, the side of her neck. Even as he takes a step closer to her, backing her up against the wall. The memory of facing Gluttony, facing Lust, her weapons completely useless against both of them.) 

She hadn’t been able to do anything of meaning on the night they had been at the Third Laboratory. She won’t be much use against the rest of these homunculi, except possibly to buy some time until someone truly powerful, an alchemist like Roy or Edward or Major Armstrong, neutralizes them. 

But she can offer this kind of comfort, this solace. She can do this for her Colonel, at least. 

Riza winds her arms around Roy, pulling him close, and kisses him back with every ounce of skill she possesses. Every bit of devotion and passion she has in her. His knees almost give out underneath him, and it would have made her smile, under different circumstances. Roy makes the softest sound of contentment, of happiness, and she hasn’t seen more than the barest glimpses of such things in him since Hughes’ murder. The most positive emotion she has caught him expressing since then has been a satisfied gleam in the eyes every so often, or a small smirk when confident of outmaneuvering an enemy.

Not true happiness. Not contentment. Not until today. Relief and triumph blooms in Riza’s chest, born out of the sweet knowledge that  _ she  _ did that. She had been able to reach him. Ever since moving to Central, there have been times that she has doubted her ability to reach him. There have been times she has worried that he is heading somewhere she won’t be able to follow. 

Roy pulls back slightly. Smooths his fingers through her bangs. “Is this all right?” he asks, looking at her searchingly. His breathing is slightly faster than normal, and the color has returned to his cheeks. They’re standing so close that Riza can see that his pupils are a little dilated. “I won’t make you do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“I would never, sir.” Riza nearly flinches, both at the inappropriate form of address (which  _ is  _ professional and appropriate, in any other context), and at the fact that she realizes the words are a lie as soon as they leave her lips.

She’s in love with Roy (her commanding officer). She’s  _ been  _ in love with Roy (her commanding officer) for years. The fact that she’s wanted this, that she’s fantasized about it, still doesn’t erase the discomfort stirring inside her, the faint warning bells ringing out in the back of her mind.  _ You’re kissing your commanding officer in his kitchen in broad daylight on a work day, what are you  _ doing--

Roy does flinch, the reaction barely perceptible. He draws his fingers down her cheek, presses his thumb lightly against her lips. Now that he had started touching her, it’s like he can’t stop. “You can forget about our ranks, for now. Please.”

The words undo her, even though the request itself is impossible. (Riza is the Lieutenant and Roy is the Colonel and she has sworn herself to him, to follow him anywhere. To forget the professional devotion that is so tangled up with the personal devotion is like forgetting the sky is blue.) 

Riza rubs his shoulders, as she’s wanted to in the past, and runs her hands down his arms, and Roy kisses her so hard that her head almost hits the wall. He alternates between attempted gentleness and unbridled intensity, and Riza matches him kiss for kiss, tangling her fingers in the soft hair at the nape of his neck, raking her fingernails down his back, making him shiver, even through the wool of his uniform coat.

Belatedly, Riza realizes they’re moving, Roy’s fingers interlaced with hers, as he guides her out of the kitchen and to his bedroom, closing the door behind them. It’s dark in here too, shutters drawn. It’s good that nobody can see what they’re doing - in broad daylight, during working hours, when they should be at the office. This is  _ sordid,  _ and Riza knows sordid better than most. Tension flutters inside her, drawing her as tight as a wound string, and not in a good way. 

(She knows sordid better than most, yes. She slept with a First Lieutenant nine years her senior when she had been a mere cadet in Ishval, and had another months-long affair with her academic advisor after returning from the front lines. But that had been  _ then,  _ that had been Riza  _ then,  _ and Riza now isn’t that young cadet. She’s a First Lieutenant, honorable and decent, and she’s  _ good  _ now.) 

Roy removes her hair clip, watching as her hair spills down over her shoulders, and the look in his eyes makes Riza’s mouth go very dry. 

(Maybe she’s not so good. Maybe she’s as bad as she was back then. She’s wanted this for years. Thought about this very thing alone late at night in her apartment, in bed, eyes closed, toes curled.) 

Roy draws her close against his chest and buries his face in her hair. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathes. “I miss seeing you with your jeweled comb.”

Riza remembers the gift he had purchased for her in Xing - the delicate hair ornament with the gold tines and the citrine jewels.  _ The amber suits your eyes,  _ he told her, the first time he saw her wearing it for one of their dinners at Grumman’s manor. She hadn’t thought anything of it at the time - the expensive gift, or the compliment. Now the belated realization hits her like a ton of bricks. She presses a soft kiss to Roy’s neck and breathes in, missing the spicy scent of his aftershave. “I haven’t had much occasion to wear it lately.”

“I’ll give you a dozen occasions,” Roy promises, at once. “When all of this is over.”

Riza smiles at him, moved by his earnestness. “Thank you.”

He leads her to the bed, and Riza ignores the tingle of nervousness (the old ache of triggered memories) as she sits on his lap and unfastens his uniform coat, pulling it off carefully. She undoes the top few buttons of his dress shirt, but he places a hand on her wrist and stops her from going any further, probably self-conscious about the bandages covering his surgical incision.  _ It’s different this time,  _ she tells herself.  _ It’s Roy.  _

And she loves Roy. She hadn’t been in love with Reid, or Bresler. She had just loved the comfort they could give her. The fact that she loves Roy should make this more wholesome - right? 

Riza cups his face in her hands and kisses him in an attempt to convince herself of it. He fumbles with her uniform coat a little, cursing once with impatience, as he pulls it off, leaving her in just her pants and short-sleeved black undershirt. Roy leans back, easing her down with him, and Riza hears his soft exhale of pain as they stretch out on the bed. The covers are unmade, and the sheets smell of his soap, like cedar and citrus.

She unbuckles his belt and removes it with one hand, the movement smooth and practiced. “I can just take care of you,” Riza offers, brushing her knuckles against his thigh, a feather-light caress. “If that would be easier.” 

The briefest flash of indecision crosses Roy’s face. Then he shakes his head, taking her hand in his and moving it away. “No. I want-- I’ve wanted this for a long time. I want to do it right.”

It’s an interesting, unfamiliar feeling, him on top of her, pressing against her, and Riza wonders at how something can be unfamiliar and new but comforting at the same time. Roy slips his hands underneath her shirt, stroking her sides and her stomach, fingers ghosting along the undersides of her breasts, until she moans and half-pushes him off her enough to pull her shirt over her head and toss it aside. There’s a tremor of apprehension, as she does the same with her uniform pants and then her bra. 

(Riza has had enough experience to know that she is attractive. Every one of the men she has been with has called her beautiful, gorgeous, perfect. But still, it’s Roy she is with now, the only one who has ever really mattered, and she is so eager to please.) 

Roy stares at her, his gaze sweeping from the top of her head to the tips of her bare toes, and back up again. There’s desire in it, hunger, like he would devour her, consume her whole (and that makes her toes curl, already). But it’s mingled with such awe and tenderness, an expression she’s never seen on his face before. Riza holds her hand out to him a little shyly, and he pulls her into his arms. 

Roy buries his face in her neck, against her shoulders and collarbone and breasts, and Riza runs her fingers through his hair. His dark locks are even softer than they look, and long and disheveled, now. (She remembers, faintly, that his last haircut had been a couple of days before Hughes’ murder. Like Roy had told her in the hospital yesterday, everything is  _ before  _ and  _ after,  _ now.) Riza savors his lips and teeth and tongue on her skin as she traces the strong muscles of his back, shoulders, and arms.  _ This  _ part is familiar to her; the sensation of a man drowning his own pain in her body, using her for a much-needed hour of respite. Using her to forget. 

(Maybe she should mind it. She doesn’t, as she hadn’t, in the past. The sensations ground her and distract her all at once, and it gives her as much relief as it’s given her lovers. And god, it’s so good to feel good, to feel beloved and treasured and special. She had forgotten. In all the harshness of the last several weeks - in all of Roy’s occasional harshness and coldness - she had forgotten what that felt like.)

“Riza,” Roy whispers against her throat, and then, “My Riza. You’re so perfect.” 

Riza closes her eyes and arches up against him, digging her fingernails into his back. The sweet words, her name on his lips - not  _ Lieutenant,  _ not  _ Hawkeye,  _ but  _ Riza -  _ and the friction of his shirt against her breasts makes it almost enough for her. It’s been so long since she was touched like this that she’s halfway there already. “Roy,” she manages, and if it were anybody else, she would have been embarrassed by the pure want in her voice. “Please.”

He doesn’t make her ask again. 

Riza had thought they were intimate, before. Even without sex. Even though they had never even kissed; even though the extent of the physical comfort they took in each other had been a few hugs shared. She knew they were close. She told herself that they didn’t need conventional physical intimacy to prove that.

_ You’re closer than most married couples I know, honestly. It’s almost weird. You practically read one another’s minds. _ Rebecca had remarked to her, once.  _ The only thing is that you don’t sleep together.  _ Havoc and Breda have made similar comments - although, thankfully, with no reference to her and Roy’s lack of physical intimacy. 

There have been countless times over the years that Roy has anticipated and responded to her thoughts and considerations before she ever voiced them. Countless times that Riza has done the same to him. Most of the time, they let those instances pass without comment, taking their understanding of one another as a matter of fact. Occasionally, though, they looked at each other and shared the smallest of smiles, or a tiny nod, and Riza had thought -  _ surely, we can’t get any closer than this.  _

She had been wrong. She hadn’t fully understood how intimate this would feel with him. She had been ready for this, she had wanted it, but still, Riza gasps, and Roy holds himself still. “Are you all right?” he asks sharply.

Riza nods, blinking away her tears. “Fine.” She reaches up, and presses a hand against his cheek. “I’m fine. Don’t stop.” 

She hasn’t felt this naked, this exposed and vulnerable, since her first time (a month before her eighteenth birthday, and far before she was ready.) Roy holds her tight, and kisses her, and that, at least, the fact that she’s with him, makes her feel warm and safe. She hasn’t felt either in months. Riza holds him, treasuring the closeness with him that she’s craved for so long. 

She’s so overwrought, so rubbed raw emotionally, that she’s more vocal than she normally is. Probably more vocal than she should be, in an apartment building with thin walls, but hopefully Roy’s neighbors are at work (like decent people should be at this hour). He seems to like it, anyway. Riza bites her lip in an attempt to keep from crying out, until the skin nearly breaks, until Roy bites it for her.

She doesn’t want this to stop, but Roy bows his head against her collarbone and shudders hard, quietly. His arms give out underneath him, making him land awkwardly on top of her. His face is flushed, and he trembles underneath her touch, as she gently pushes his sweat-damp hair away from his forehead. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, mortified.

Riza kisses his brow. “You have nothing to apologize for.” She bites the instinctive  _ Colonel  _ off from the end of her reply.

Roy glances at her, clearly having heard it anyway. He moves off her gingerly, doing his best to mask a grimace of pain. Riza reaches for him, concerned, but he just takes her hand, and looks at her with a quiet heat that rekindles the desire inside her. “Now show me what you like, Hawkeye.”

Roy had slipped into the old, familiar mode of address, just as she almost had, and the command in his tone makes her cheeks burn. (Right out of her filthiest, most scandalous fantasies, the ones that leave her unable to face herself in the mirror for several hours afterwards. The ones that have to be reserved for Friday nights because she certainly can’t face him at work the following day.)

Riza shows him what she likes. It’s a little uncomfortable at first, because it’s been so long since someone else touched her the way she touches herself, and she’s more than a little self-conscious. As much as she loves him, he’s still her commanding officer and this is so far beyond inappropriate that it borders on sinful. 

But Roy is a quick study, and it doesn’t take long before she’s breathless and he has her wrists pinned above her head with one hand while he’s stroking her inside and out with the other one. He’s pushing her closer and closer to the edge, pushing her far beyond shame. All that Riza can take in any longer is the feeling of his fingers and the kisses that he presses to her lips and cheeks, her nose and brow, her neck and collarbone, his hair tickling her skin. 

“Come for me, Riza,” Roy orders. But he’s betrayed by the slightest shaking of his voice, and it drives her over the edge.

Riza curls into herself afterward, burying her involuntary, ragged gasps in the pillow, but there is no hiding how she trembles. She’s come this hard a few times before, but even those times hadn’t felt quite like this. Roy strokes her hair and her arms and kisses the top of her head, holding her close. 

Her mind races, and then slows, as her heart rate finally begins to settle into something approaching normalcy. Riza blinks at the closed window shutters, a little dazed, trying to come to terms with what has just happened. Everything had happened so fast. A mere hour ago, she had been leaving the hospital with Roy, with nothing more pressing on her mind than retrieving his journal and returning to the office. 

It’s too much to take in. Riza’s mind retreats, as it sometimes does in times of high stress, to safe and familiar territory, seeking an environment she has control over. “We should get back to work,” she murmurs, trying to rise. “Falman is probably swamped at the office.”

Roy groans, throwing an arm over his eyes. The sound and expression are so purely, utterly discontented that it reminds Riza of happier days back in East City, before, and the hundreds of times he had reacted like this when she had reminded him to get back to his paperwork. She can’t help but smile at the reminder, of times before, of  _ Roy  _ before.

Roy cracks an eye open, catches sight of her expression, and gently tugs her back down on top of him. He holds her in place with an arm around her, and kisses the top of her head. “I think you should get some rest first. You’ve seemed weary, Lieutenant.”

The words are as tender as they had ever been in East City. Riza rests her head against his chest, placing her hand over his heart. She is reassured by the steady beat against her palm, and even more so by this glimpse of the Roy she recognizes; the man she had fallen so completely in love with. It is irresponsible and self-indulgent, but she has dreamed of sleeping in his arms for so long, and intimacy always wears her out, with the intensity of the physical and emotional release.

“All right,” Riza allows, a little reluctantly. “Wake me in an hour.”

Roy rubs his thumb against her back. “I will.”

Riza closes her eyes, nestling against him. It’s barely been over for five minutes, but she relives Roy’s kindness; every gentle word and touch, and she wonders if things will be different between them now. If things will be better. It gives her so much hope, that she had still been able to access this old part of him, a part she had thought buried by grim, single-minded focus and determination and anger.

_ And all it took was sleeping with him. _

Riza silences that line of thought with brutal efficiency. Despite everything, she falls asleep.

-

She wakes up later, disoriented, still in Roy’s arms. It’s dark in the room, and that confuses her almost as much as her bare skin, and then she remembers. It hadn’t been a dream. It had been very real. 

Riza straightens, sitting up, and Roy’s eyelids flutter open. He had been sleeping much more lightly than she had, and he reaches up, brushing her hair out of her face. “What time is it?” she asks, craning her neck to check the alarm clock on Roy’s side of the bed. 

“Almost sixteen-hundred hours,” Roy replies, a little sheepishly. He pulls himself into a sitting position, one hand going to his side. “I know you wanted to be woken in an hour. I lost track of time myself.”

Riza puts a hand to her head, remorse washing over her as she thinks of Falman and Fuery alone in the office, valiantly attempting to handle the massive backlogs of work that have been piling up since Roy and Havoc’s hospitalization. “I was supposed to go help Falman and Fuery.” 

(Since when has she been someone who neglects her professional responsibilities to her unit in favor of spending the better part of a work day in bed with her commanding officer? It’s shameful behavior that should rightly earn her a reprimand, except for the fact that--)

“We’ll make it up tomorrow,” Roy assures her. He places a hand on hers. “Stay. I can order an early dinner for us.”

The request nearly disarms her. The idea of a dinner shared on Roy’s battered sofa, his arm around her shoulders, more hours together, the chance to talk, really talk.

Riza shakes her head. “I shouldn’t. It’s bad enough that I’ve been here for so long. It already looks suspicious to any of our enemies who might have us under surveillance.”

Roy hesitates, clearly unwilling to concede, but he finally nods. “Can I do anything for you before you go? I could make you a cup of tea, at least.”

Riza considers it, before smoothing a hand through her hair, embarrassed. She feels like a mess, her hair in complete disarray, every article of clothing lying in a heap on the floor. The thought of leaving and heading back to the office, or even to her own apartment, is unreasonably intimidating. It’s ridiculous, but she feels like the truth is engraved on her skin, for everyone she passes on the street to see -  _ I broke the number one rule for any female soldier, and fucked my commanding officer.  _ “I could use a hot shower. I need to make myself look more...presentable.”

(Composed, restrained, responsible, stoic First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye.)

“I’ll get one started for you.” Roy rubs her back once more and leaves. Riza slides out of bed, gathering her clothing and hair clip from the floor. Her uniform is wrinkled, and she sighs. 

She hears water running, and follows the sound to Roy’s bathroom. Unlike her apartment, his place has a bathtub and a shower, rather than just a narrow shower stall. He had filled the tub up, and Riza can see the steam emanating from its surface. 

Roy glances over his shoulder at her. “I thought you might like a hot bath,” he explains, a little self-consciously. “It’s supposed to be relaxing.”

This comment, on top of his earlier words about how she’s seemed weary - he’s noticed how exhausted she has been since moving to Central (since well before that); how run ragged by the strain and the long work hours and late nights. Riza smiles softly. “Thank you, Colonel.”

She deposits her clothing on the bathroom counter, and stops to clip her hair up and out of the way. Roy seems to be trying hard not to stare. He takes her hand, helping her settle into the bath - a sweet gesture, though unnecessary. The hot water eases the ever-present ache in her muscles, and all the breath leaves Riza’s body in a sigh as she rests her head against the back of the tub.

“I’ll get another towel for you.” Roy steps out, giving her one last look over his shoulder, shutting the door behind him. Riza sinks a little lower, the water lapping against her chin. He had poured some of his soap into the hot water, leaving it fragrant with the scent of cedar and citrus. She’ll leave here smelling like him, now. It may not be a good idea to return to the office. They’ll have to come up with an excuse for where they had disappeared to for the past hours - but honestly, Falman, Fuery, and Breda are tactful enough not to ask. 

Riza draws her knees to her chest as she washes, scrubbing the towel over her skin. It’s a familiar post-sex ritual, washing away the shame and embarrassment, or savoring the memories and the sensations. Often, both at the same time. 

(It triggers memories of quick showers at midnight at the war camp in Ishval, scrubbing herself down with the tiny, harsh bar of soap, in the excuse for a shower stall - each makeshift stall separated from the others by nothing more than thin, translucent plastic curtains. Reid would wait outside for her, making sure no one else entered, to give her her safety and privacy. Riza would come out, clean, hair damp, and sheltered by the dark of the night, he would walk her to her tent and kiss her goodnight. 

It triggers memories of the shower at Bresler’s apartment, with its too-strong water pressure, scalding hot against her skin, and Riza can breathe in now and still smell his soap, vetiver and balsam. She would go back to her dorm and curl up in her bunk bed, and breathe in the faint remnants of the aroma; the reminder of what she had spent her weekend doing.

She had moved to East City after graduation, a fresh start, and vowed she would never sleep with another soldier again, let alone one higher-ranking than her. All these years and considerable professional advancements later, Riza is in the same position as she had been as a cadet - taking a bath in her lover’s bathroom after breaking the anti-fraternization laws.)

Riza drains the bathtub, eventually, and rubs herself dry with the fresh towel Roy had left hanging on the doorknob. She surveys herself in the mirror critically, pressing her fingertips to the marks forming on her neck and collarbone. All of them will be covered by the high neck of her black undershirt, thankfully. Even if they couldn’t be, she’s been an expert at covering up marks with cosmetics for a long time. 

She dresses, fixes her hair, and steps outside. The bedroom is empty, and she had expected to find Roy in the kitchen, retrieving his journal from its hiding spot in the freezer, ready to get back to work. He is standing in the kitchen, but he’s reading one of the poems from the collection he had bought him instead, the book open flat on the counter. He looks almost peaceful, almost relaxed, almost at ease, for the first time in a long time. Riza studies him wordlessly, committing the sight to memory. She likes seeing him like this.

Roy turns, and for one fleeting moment, Riza thinks that if he looks at her with the mingled guilt and desire that the others had, it might break her. This is different. This has to be different. She needs this to be different from every other time.

There is no guilt in Roy’s face, or desire. There is nothing but quiet adoration. He holds his arms out to her, and Riza goes to him without a second thought. He holds her close, and kisses her brow. She tilts her head up toward him instinctively and he kisses her, long and slow, like he doesn’t want this to end, like he doesn’t want to let go.

(The rational part of her knows that they have to talk about this. Riza doesn’t understand what this means - if this is something that Roy wants to do again, or if this had been a one-time lapse, an afternoon of weakness and desperation. But this isn’t the time to address it. She can’t begin to think of an appropriate time, with every other pressing matter that they have to deal with.) 

Roy finally pulls back. “Let me drive you, at least,” he coaxes, one hand still on the small of her back.

For the first time in the entire time they have known each other, Riza doesn’t want that. She needs time, and privacy, to process the enormity of what they had just done. “That’s not necessary, Colonel.” She softens her words by taking his hand in her own. “It’s just a couple of blocks.” 

Riza tries to let go, but Roy holds on. He searches her eyes. “Are you all right?”

She hears the worry in the soft inquiry. The last thing either of them needs, after everything that has happened with Havoc, is her Colonel worrying about her too. “I’m fine,” Riza assures him. 

Roy finally releases her. “All right. Call me when you get home.”

“Yes, sir.” 

Roy gives her another kiss before she leaves.

-

Riza makes it home, and calls Roy to let him know she arrived safely. He sounds preoccupied, undoubtedly having sat down with his work journal again.  _ Order something nice for dinner and get a good night’s rest, Lieutenant,  _ he tells her, and there’s no room for tenderness or  _ my Riza  _ over a phone line that could be tapped so easily, of course, but it’s still jarring compared to what had come earlier.  _ Yes, Colonel,  _ Riza says. 

She kneels on the ground to greet Black Hayate, who sniffs at her hands, wagging his tail hard, and licks her. (Black Hayate, who never judges.) She takes him out for a long walk at the park, grounding herself in the way he sniffs at flowers, perks his ears up at other dogs, and prances in the soft grass. She picks up food on the way back from the park, and eats it on the sofa, half-listening to a radio drama.

It’s only when night falls that Riza puts her head in her hands and starts to cry.

* * *

_ you taught me a secret I can’t speak with anyone else / and you know damn well / for you, I would ruin myself / a million little times _

* * *

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> There were a few things I wanted to examine here. My thoughts, in no real order: 
> 
> 1) I think a lot of people (especially women) have complicated emotions about past sexual encounters, where even if they were consensual and something wanted at the time - it can still leave them with complicated, painful feelings (including regret, shame, or guilt) years later. I wanted to explore that a little through the lens of Riza's past encounters and how those experiences have deeply affected her. 
> 
> 2) I wanted to look at how even though Riza wanted something with Roy, even though it was something she had fantasized about - the reality can bring with it all kinds of emotional fallout that she was unprepared for in the fantasy.
> 
> 3) I love Riza and Roy together, but I think that also if we knew Riza, and if she were our friend irl, we would probably tell her to be real fucking wary about getting involved with her boss. Roy and Riza are definitely presented as equals in the narrative, but I didn't want to gloss over the fact that his rank and hers makes him literally her direct commanding officer and I think getting involved in a relationship like that could have significant emotional & self-esteem consequences. 
> 
> I also think that by virtue of the difference in rank alone, the power differential would make a sexual relationship between these two kinda shady and dubcon-ish, but my personal reading of Roy especially is that he's mindful of that fact and would never take advantage of his subordinate. 
> 
> I don't think this would happen in canon, which is why it won't happen in _delicate_ "canon." But I like writing about people making mistakes in times of heightened stress of emotion, and people doing stupid things - especially people who are deeply in love with each other and have both taken great efforts not to show it. 
> 
> Also, I've cracked after writing 96k words of a slow burn where Roy and Riza haven't had one (1) single kiss, and this fic was the product of that. 
> 
> The title and lyric excerpt at the end were taken from the song of the same name by Taylor Swift.
> 
> I don't normally write smut, or anything so dark, so I would really appreciate any thoughts and comments that you have. :) Thank you for reading!


End file.
